Dickpic
by Love Like Homicide
Summary: The message wasn't meant for Michael, but that didn't mean he couldn't reply. Mike/Michael


'There is darkness all around me

I gasp for air but my lungs are flooded

Flooded with expectations I refuse to meet

The ugly truth of what it means to be beautiful

In a world of plastic faces and empty bodies

The blood of my parents that flows through me

I choke on it all and surrender to the darkness

I surrender to the end.'

Henrietta closed her notebook.

'Deep,' Pete said. He inhaled from his cigarette and leaned his head back against the crimson silk sheets of her double bed. The smoke floated up like the breath of a bonfire and hovered above him before disappearing.

'I know, right.' She got up and walked over to her desk drawer, where she took out a fresh red candle. 'Some roider pig from the football team asked me out yesterday and I swear I wanted to barf. Like, I'm not some plastic Barbie-girl you can just play with whenever you want and then toss aside for the next cool toy.' She pulled a melted purple candle out of its holder by the door and replaced it, lighting it by holding the end of her still burning cigarette to the wick.

'I'm no ones experiment,' Firkle mumbled and the other three nodded.

'How'd he take it?' Pete asked.

She smirked. 'He called me a bitch, but he looked like he was going to cry.'

'Awesome.'

'Speaking of wanting to barf,' Michael started, glaring down at his iPhone screen. 'Count Fagula just sent me a snap.'

'What a desperate weirdo,' Firkle muttered as he leaned over Michael's shoulder to have a look. 'Are you going to open it?'

Michael tapped the icon. Both their faces went white, then Firkle fell backwards into the carpet, howling with mirth.

Pete raised an eyebrow at Michael, who'd since placed his phone face-down in his lap and put a hand over his eyes. 'What's wrong?'

Michael sighed. 'I wish I was blind.'

Pete opened his mouth to ask again, but was cut off by Firkle screeching 'it was his dick!' before falling back into hysterics. Pete's mouth remained open, hanging there like a prop in one of those carnival water-gun games, and Henrietta snorted.

'Seriously?' she asked. Michael groaned and nodded, eyes still covered. She held out her hand. 'Well, show me what the freak's packing.'

Michael lowered his hand and glared at her. 'No way.'

'Come on.'

'It's probably timed-out anyway,' he muttered, but, unfortunately for him, Mike had set the image to infinite seconds and Michael had not tapped out. 'Here.'

She took the phone and squealed. 'Damn Michael, you lucky bastard. Vampir is hung!'

Michael put both hands over his face to hide the oncoming flush. It wasn't that he was a prude, he just really didn't want to think about their enemy like that. Evidently, the others didn't feel the same way, because when he looked up Pete had his phone and was grinning in a way far too lecherous for his liking.

'What?' he snapped.

Pete waggled his eyebrows. 'Maybe it's rigor mortis.'

'Not funny.'

Finally, he got his phone back. He forced himself to have a proper look at the offending image, seeing as everyone else in the room had, and his stomach knotted with anxiety. Henrietta was right, Mike was big. Well, either that or he had abnormally small hands. He felt himself becoming aroused. He didn't want to think about Mike in a sexual way - didn't want to think about him at all - but it was too late, he was hard for a wannabe Vampire. That fact made him angry, but he couldn't tell whether he was angry at Mike for sending the picture or himself for being affected.

He tapped the corner of the photo, away from where the action was happening so his thoughts wouldn't get any worse, and was faced with a second snap. This one was completely black and said: 'Oh my god michael I'm SO sorry! That wasnt meant for you, I swear! IM SORRY!'

He angled the phone so Pete could see it. 'What're you going to say?'

Michael shrugs. 'I don't know, figured I'd let him panic.'

Henrietta leaned forwards and put out her cigarette in the ashtray at the centre of their circle. 'You know he's gay, right?'

'Yeah, and?'

Firkle shot upright from where he'd been laying and smirked. 'I get it.' Michael didn't like the way Firkle was looking at him, but he didn't have time to analyse it before the smaller Goth launched at him and grabbed the crotch of his jeans. Michael couldn't suppress an involuntary moan. 'I knew it!' Firkle declared with a manic grin.

Michael sighed. 'He'll think I'm gay.'

'You are,' Henrietta said.

'Well, he'll think I'm into him.'

Firkle pointed to his slacks. 'You are.'

'Fine,' he muttered and undid his pants. Pete had the decency to turn away, but the other two were waiting for the show. Michael didn't really mind, he messed around with Henrietta heaps before he came out, and Firkle was a weird kid. He made sure the flash was on, then wrapped a hand around himself and snapped a picture. He covered up, avoiding the eyes of his friends, and sent it before he could change his mind.

Pete turned back around. 'Well?'

He watched the word change from _sent_ to _opened_. 'Dracula has seen my dick.'

Henrietta cackled. 'You got a better figure than I remember.'

He rolled his eyes.

A few minutes passed in anxious silence. Michael lit a cigarette and watched the gentle fog surround him, hiding the room from view and swallowing him into a grey abyss. This usually relaxed him, separated him from his worries, but today wasn't a usual day. Michael's phone pinged. He opened it, this time to a picture of Mike's face, tongue out to show off a piercing, and the camera angled down so he could see the teen's scrawny chest. The caption read 'nice' with a winking face. He passed the phone back around the room.

Pete smirked but didn't comment.

Henrietta whistled and widened her eyes in mock-awe. 'Boy wants some Goth dick.'

When Firkle saw the photo, he just laughed.

Michael exited out of the image and opened the camera. 'Okay, what do I send now?'

'Take your shirt off,' Henrietta said at the same time that Firkle yelled 'lick a knife!' Maybe he was too young for this.

He turned to Pete, who shrugged. 'I don't fucking know man, it's your sex-life.'

Michael unbuttoned his shirt and tilted his head to the side, showing off his neck. He took the photo and captioned it: 'you want this?'

The response was immediate - another shirtless Mike, this time biting his lip, fake fangs visible, and the words 'hell yeah'.

Before Michael could respond, he got a message. An address. Mike's address.

'Oh God.'

'Well?' Henrietta asked.

Michael scrambled to his feet. Fuck it and fuck their history, his friends made him go this far, he may as well take it all the way. 'I need to go.'

His departure was accompanied by two sets of wolf-whistles and Firkle barking. When it came to sex, the Goths were as conformist as any other hormonal teenagers.


End file.
